The Gentleman Bastard Series 3-Book Bundle: The Lies of Locke Lamora, Red Seas Under Red Skies, The Republic of Thieves (140 page)

Locke felt a pang that was half relief and half melancholy; usually it was
him
that Jean was picking up in bloody pieces at the end of a fight. Ducking away from
Jean had been a matter of split-second necessity in the heat of the struggle. He realized
that he was strangely disquieted that Jean hadn’t followed him, relentlessly at his
heels, looking after him as always.

Don’t be an ass, he thought. Jean had his own bloody problems.

“Jerome,” he said.

Jean’s head darted around, and his lips nearly formed an “L” sound before he got himself
under control. “Orrin! You’re a mess! Gods, are you all right?”

A mess? Locke looked down and discovered that nearly every inch of his clothing was
soaked in blood. He ran a hand over his face. What he’d taken for sweat or beer came
away red on his palm.

“None of it’s mine,” he said. “I think.”

“I was about to come looking for you,” said Jean. “Ezri … Lieutenant Delmastro …”

“I’ll be fine,” she groaned. “Bastard tried to hit me with a mizzenmast. Just knocked
the wind out of me.”

Locke spotted one of the huge brass-studded clubs lying on the deck near her, and
just beyond it, a dead Redeemer with one of Delmastro’s characteristic sabers planted
in his throat.

“Lieutenant Delmastro,” said Locke, “I’ve brought the ship’s master. Allow me to introduce
Antoro Nera.”

Delmastro pushed Jean’s hands away and crawled past him for a better view. Lines of
blood ran from cuts on her lip and forehead.

“Master Nera. Well met. I represent the side that’s still standing. Appearances to
the contrary.” She grinned and wiped at the blood above her eyes. “I’ll be responsible
for arranging larceny once we’ve secured your ship, so don’t piss me off. Speaking
of which, what ship is this?”

“
Kingfisher
,”
said Nera
.

“Cargo and destination?”

“Tal Verrar, with spices, wine, turpentine, and fine woods.”

“That and a fat load of Jeremite Redeemers. No, shut up. You can explain later. Gods,
Ravelle, you
have
been busy.”

“Too fucking right,” said Jabril, slapping him on the back. “He killed four of them
himself in the hold. Rode a beer cask down on one, and must’ve fought the other three
straight up.” Jabril snapped his fingers. “Like
that
.”

Locke sighed, and felt his cheeks warming. He reached up and put a bit of the blood
back where he’d found it.

“Well,” said Delmastro, “I won’t say that I’m not surprised, but I am pleased. You’re
not fit to tend so much as a fishing boat, Ravelle, but you can lead boarding parties
whenever you like. I think we just redeemed about half of Jerem.”

“You’re too kind,” said Locke.

“Can you get this ship into order for me? Clear the decks of crewfolk and put them
all under guard at the forecastle?”

“I can. Will she be all right, Jerome?”

“She’s been smacked around and cut up a bit, but—”

“I’ve had worse,” she said. “I’ve had worse, and I’ve certainly given it back. You
can go with Ravelle if you like.”

“I—”

“Don’t make me hit you. I’ll be fine.”

Jean stood up and came over to Locke, who shoved Nera gently toward Jabril.

“Jabril, would you escort our new friend to the forecastle while Jerome and I scrape
up the rest of his crew?”

“Aye, be pleased to.”

Locke led Jean down the quarterdeck stairs, into the tangle of bodies amidships. More
Redeemers, more crewfolk … and five or six of the men he’d pulled out of Windward
Rock three weeks before. He was uncomfortably aware that the survivors all seemed
to be staring at him. He caught snatches of their conversation:

“… laughing, he was …”

“Saw it as I came up the side. Charged them all by himself …”

“Never seen the like.” That was Streva, whose left arm looked broken. “Laughed and
laughed. Fucking fearless.”

“… ‘the gods send your doom, motherfuckers.’ That’s what he told them. I heard it.…”

“They’re right, you know,” whispered Jean. “I’ve seen you do some brave and crazy
shit, but that was … that was—”

“It was all crazy and none brave. I was out of my fucking head, get it? I was so scared
shitless I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“But in the hold below—”

“I dropped a cask on one,” said Locke. “Two more got their throats slit while they
were still dumb. The last was kind enough to slip in beer and make it easy. Same as
always, Jean. I’m no bloody warrior.”

“But now they think you are. You pulled it off.”

They found Mal, slumped against the mainmast, unmoving. His hands were curled around
the sword buried in his stomach, as though he were trying to keep it safe. Locke sighed.

“I have what you might call mixed feelings about that right now,” he said.

Jean knelt down and pushed Mal’s eyelids closed. “I know what you mean.” He paused,
seeming to weigh his words before continuing. “We have a serious problem.”

“Really? Us, problems? What
ever
could you mean?”

“These people are our people. These people are
thieves
. Surely you see it too. We can’t sell them out to Stragos.”

“Then we’ll die.”

“We both know Stragos means to kill us anyway—”

“The longer we string him along,” said Locke, “the closer we get to pulling off some
part of our mission, the closer we are to a real antidote. The more time we get, the
greater the chance he’ll slip … and we can do something.”

“We can do something by siding with our own kind. Look around you, for the gods’ sake.
All
these people do to live is steal. They’re us. The mandates we live by—”

“Don’t fucking lecture
me
about propriety!”

“Why not? You seem to need it—”

“I’ve done my duty by the men we brought from Tal Verrar, Jean. But they and
all
of these people are strangers. I aim to have Stragos weeping for what he’s done,
and if I have to spare them to achieve that, by the gods, I’ll spare them. But if
I have to sink this ship and a dozen like it to bring him down, I’ll damn well do
that, too.”

“Gods,” Jean whispered. “Listen to yourself. I thought
I
was Camorri. You’re the pure essence. A moment ago you were morose for the sake of
these people. Now you’d fucking drown them all for the sake of your revenge!”

“
Our
revenge,” said Locke. “
Our
lives.”

“There has to be another way.”

“What do you propose, then? Stay out here? Spend a merry few weeks in the Ghostwinds,
and then politely
die
?”

“If necessary,” said Jean.

The
Poison Orchid
, under reduced sail, drew near the stern of the
Kingfisher
, putting herself between the flute and the wind. The men and women lining the
Orchid
’s rail let loose with three raucous cheers, each one louder than the last.

“Hear that? They’re not cheering the scrub watch,” said Jean. “They’re cheering their
own. That’s what we are, now. Part of all this.”

“They’re str—”

“They’re not
strangers
,” said Jean.

“Well.” Locke glanced aft, at Lieutenant Delmastro, who’d risen to her feet and taken
the
Kingfisher
’s wheel. “Maybe some of them are less strange to you than they are to me.”

“Now, wait just a—”

“Do what you have to do to pass the time out here,” said Locke, scowling. “But don’t
forget where you come from. Stragos is our business.
Beating him
is our business.”

“ ‘Pass the time’? Pass the gods-damned
time
?” Jean sucked in an angry breath. He clenched his fists, and for a second looked
as though he might grab Locke and shake him. “Gods, I see what’s twisting under your
skin. Look,
you
may be resigned to the fact that the
only
woman you’ll ever consider is years gone. But you’ve been screwed down so tight about
that, for so long, that you seem to think the rest of the world keeps your habits.”

Locke felt as though he’d been stabbed. “Jean, don’t you even—”

“Why not? Why
not
? We carry your precious misery with us like a holy fucking relic.
Don’t
talk about Sabetha Belacoros.
Don’t
talk about the plays.
Don’t
talk about Jasmer, or Espara, or any of the schemes we ran. I lived with her for
nine years, same as you, and I’ve pretended she doesn’t fucking exist to
avoid upsetting you
. Well, I’m not you. I’m not content to live like an oath-bound monk.
I have a life outside your gods-damned shadow
.”

Locke stepped back. “Jean, I don’t … I didn’t—”

“And quit calling me
Jean
, for fuck’s sake.”

“Of course,” said Locke coldly. “Of course. If we keep this up we’ll be breaking character
for good. I can prowl below myself. You get back to Delmastro. She’s holding on to
that wheel to stay on her bloody feet.”

“But—”

“Go,”
said Locke.

“Fine.” Jean turned to leave, then paused one last time. “But understand—
I can’t do it
. I’ll follow you to any fate, and you know it, but I can’t fuck these people over,
even for our own sake. And even if you think it’s for our sake … I can’t let
you
do it, either.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you have a lot to think about,” said Jean, and he stomped away.

Small parties of sailors had begun slipping over from the
Orchid
. Utgar rushed up to Locke, red-faced with excitement, leading a group of crewfolk
carrying lines and fend-offs to help hold the ships alongside one another.

“Sweet Marrows, Ravelle, we just found out about the Redeemers,” Utgar said. “Lieutenant
told us what you did. Fuckin’ amazing! A job well done!”

Locke glanced at the body of Mal resting against the mainmast, and at Jean’s back
as he approached Delmastro with his hands out to hold her up. Not caring who saw,
he flung his saber down at the deck planks, where it stuck tip-first, quivering from
side to side.

“Oh, indeed,” he said. “It seems I win again.
Hooray
for winning.”

“BRING THE PRISONERS FORWARD,” said Captain Drakasha.

It was full night on the deck of the
Poison Orchid
, and the ship rode at anchor beneath a star-pierced sky. The moons had not yet begun
to rise. Drakasha stood at the quarterdeck rail, backlit by alchemical lamps, wearing
a tarpaulin for a cloak. Her hair was covered by a ludicrous woolen wig, vaguely resembling
the ceremonial hairpiece of a Verrari magistrate. The deck fore and aft was crowded
with shadowed crewfolk, and in a small clear space amidships stood the prisoners.

Nineteen men from the
Red Messenger
had survived the morning’s fight. Now all nineteen stood, bound hands and feet, in
an awkward bunch at the ship’s waist. Locke shuffled forward behind Jean and Jabril.

“Clerk of the court,” said Drakasha, “you have brought us a
sad
lot.”

“A sad lot indeed, Your Honor.” Lieutenant Delmastro appeared beside the captain,
clutching a rolled scroll and wearing a ridiculous wig of her own.

“As wretched a pack of dissolute, cockless mongrels as I’ve ever seen. Still, I suppose
we must try them.”

“Indeed we must, ma’am.”

“With what are they charged?”

“Such a litany of crimes as turns the blood to jam.” Delmastro opened the scroll and
raised her voice as she read. “Willful refusal of the kind hospitality of the archon
of Tal Verrar. Deliberate flight from the excellent accommodations
provided by said archon at Windward Rock. Theft of a naval vessel with the stated
intention of applying it to a life of piracy.”

“Disgraceful.”

“Just so, Your Honor. Now the next bit is rather confusing; some are charged with
mutiny, while others are charged with incompetence.”

“Some this, some that? Clerk of the court, we cannot
abide
untidiness. Simply charge everyone with everything.”

“Understood. The mutineers are now incompetent and the incompetent are also mutineers.”

“Excellent. Very excellent, and so
very
magisterial. No doubt I shall be quoted in books.”

“Important books too, ma’am.”

“What else do these wretches have to answer for?”

“Assault and larceny beneath the red flag, Your Honor. Armed piracy on the Sea of
Brass on the twenty-first instant of the month of Festal, this very year.”

“Vile, grotesque, and contemptible,” shouted Drakasha. “Let the record show that I
feel as though I may swoon. Tell me, are there any who would speak in defense of the
prisoners?”

“None, ma’am, as the prisoners are penniless.”

“Ah. Then under whose laws do they claim any rights or protections?”

“None, ma’am. No power on land will claim or aid them.”

“Pathetic, and not unexpected. Yet without firm guidance from their betters, perhaps
it’s only
natural
that these rodents have shunned virtue like a contagious disease. Perhaps some small
chance of clemency may be forthcoming.”

“Unlikely, ma’am.”

“One small matter remains, which may attest to their true character. Clerk of the
court, can you describe the nature of their associates and consorts?”

“Only too vividly, Your Honor. They willfully consort with the officers and crew of
the
Poison Orchid
.”

“Gods above,” cried Drakasha, “did you say
Poison Orchid
?”

“I did indeed, ma’am.”

“They are guilty! Guilty on every count! Guilty in every particular, guilty to the
utmost and final extremity of all possible human culpability!” Drakasha tore at her
wig, then flung it to the deck and jumped up and down upon it.

“An excellent verdict, ma’am.”

“It is the judgment of this court,” said Drakasha, “solemn in its authority and unwavering
in its resolution, that for crimes upon the sea the sea shall have them. Put them
over the side! And may the gods not be too hasty in conferring mercy upon their souls.”